


strip the paint off the walls i’ve walked through

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, POV Martino Rametta, Post-Canon, set in bracciano because i have no imagination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 09:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: There's still a lot Marti doesn't know about Nico, but that's okay. He lets him in one piece at a time.





	strip the paint off the walls i’ve walked through

**Author's Note:**

> surprise, i don’t know what this is 🙃 i think a long while ago on tumblr a bunch of mutuals reblogged some post that went vaguely like _i don’t want to go to parties i want to go look at the stars_ and my lizard brain went “marti e nico” like it does at EVERYTHING (because they’ve ruined me) so uh. this is my (very) vague interpretation of that. but there’s also some not-super-explicit sex in here? littered with unanswered hcs i have about nico + sex (because i have a lot of them) so. enjoy this mess i guess? <strike>I don’t think i can be coherent about these two anymore now that they’ve been ripped away from me.</strike>

The door of the cabin shuts behind Gio last — Luca and Elia ahead of him — with a soft click of the latch like a long-awaited resolving chord at the end of a tedious, lengthy song. Marti and Nico wait ten seconds before moving like it’s some unspoken rule.

Broken by Nico, who Marti can see turn his head and smile from the corner of his eye. Suppressed, close-lipped, stretched cheeks that wrinkle and divot like the topography of a desert after a much-needed storm. It's about to break into a grin but Marti interrupts it by bridging the distance between them on the couch to grab him by the back of the neck and pull him, kiss him. 

It’s not unsuspecting, but Nico makes a surprised, happy sound into it anyway — bringing his hand up to Marti’s face and opening his mouth not because he wants to deepen it, but because maybe Marti couldn’t stop his blooming smile even if he wanted to.

That thought suddenly overcomes him. Nico’s smile.

So he pulls back in order to see it. It’s big. So big. And happy. Free, like Marti holds a special key that unlocks his jaw to stretch into shapes happiness cannot be captured in otherwise — not in a painting, a photo, a memory. Nico smiles at him in ways Marti can only absorb at the moment, lost in his recollection until he sees it again. 

“What?” Nico asks him, dragging his thumb down Marti’s lower lip with dilated pupils dancing between all the freckles on his cheeks. His tone makes it very clear he already has an idea. 

(Not that Marti is hard to read. Or that Nico’s not just as hypnotized: by brown eyes almost black in this dim light, long eyelashes, lips that do that little squiggly pout every time Marti wants to make a remark but holds back. It’s a thought Marti finds hard to believe — that he could possibly bear the same devastating effect — but that makes something liquid-like and warm bleed through his heart regardless, trickling into the empty spaces of his chest until it’s so deluged he feels like he can’t breathe with how much he loves Nico.)

“Just been waiting to do that,” Marti admits, looking down but not pulling away — not removing his hand on the back, low part of Nico’s neck, a finger sliding down the collar of his shirt to rest on the first prominent vertebrae.

The thing is, kissing Nico still isn’t a casual thing. A goodbye peck still steals all the air from Marti’s lungs, still stands him static before something in his brain snaps telling him to chase.

So while not unusual to kiss Nico in front of the boys, it feels like cheating — feels almost exhausting. Like he either has to harden part of himself to not consume it whole or to silently stir with a heart so fuzzy it clouds his blood and he can’t see through the fog.

Especially after hours and hours of wanting to do it the right way. Wholly, habitually. With unafraid lips and hands and sounds and thoughts; without a restricted setting or a single witness.

Unthinking, basically. Asking Marti to do that when he kisses Nico is like asking a fish to breathe air, to climb a tree.

So he leans in to do it again, his fingers combing up through the curls on the back of Nico’s head. His foot on the floor finding Nico’s so he can bend their knees together, his under Nico’s. Softer and slower this time, with lips that start open and close in sync the best they can around his own smile.

He feels Nico’s hand come to rest on his chest, down around his ribs that expand over his deep breaths; his own doing.

“You sure you didn’t want to go?” Nico pulls away to ask him, half sarcastic. He keeps their foreheads pressed together, sneaking in another kiss before Marti has time to answer.

They had run out of beer, deciding to go to the bar in Trevignano. Except no, Marti didn’t want to go because he had been thinking about this.

Clearly, Marti doesn’t feel like he needs to give Nico a real answer to that, so he just kisses him again — getting closer, compelling him to lay down on the couch so Marti can lean over him, kiss him better. Kiss his neck. A favor he’s learned Nico likes to give because he likes to take it back.

Nico exhales softly, Marti can hear the pleased simper in it. Can feel his middle arch up under him, pressing into him, a reassuring gesture.

It’s hot. He didn’t mean for it to get hot. But Nico lets go so rarely, lets Marti in this absolute and unintrusive way so seldom, the way Nico looks and sounds when he does is near-fatal to how Marti is able to process him as a whole.

When he pants. When his legs draw up. When he whimpers Marti’s name.

His hand finds Marti’s back, smooths down until he can breach the hem of his shirt to smooth back up over the skin. Presses down, wants Marti to know he wants this.

Marti’s hand cradling Nico’s face turns it so Marti can find his lips again. A little messy this time. Wet from the kisses Marti’s practiced on the pulses and swallows of Nico’s neck, hot from it too. His thumb rests on Nico’s temple; his other hand comes up to match it mirrored, and, without any support, Marti puts his full weight on him.

He used to get nervous at the pressure — that maybe he’d crush Nico — but the sound that escapes him and into Marti, vibrating, always tells him otherwise. It’s the sound eyes would make if they could, rolled back. It’s the sound hands would make, gripping.

Nico’s palm on Marti’s back is joined by his other, the stress softer. They snake to Marti’s opposite sides and hug him, fingers cupping his hips. Somehow tender and sexy at the same time. He’s not sure how the gesture manages to say _I want you close_ and _I care about you_ and _I love your body on top of mine_ all at once but it does. Marti will never not be amazed at how much Nico’s able to say to him without words at all. Which isn’t surprising, when he thinks about it — about all the notes Nico’s ever sent him: disguised in fields of flowery language with metaphors hidden inside golden eggs that won’t crack.__

_ _Maybe that’s why he’s so beautiful, so bewitching and animated. Without it, he can’t speak._ _

_ _(Or, no one will listen.)_ _

_ _These thoughts make Marti slow down, savor the build-up to the inevitable so Nico holds on to him a little longer. He breaks away only to turn his head, to let Nico’s face fall placant into his hand so he can bear the weight while he kisses him deep. _ _

_ _He feels Nico let go with each back and forth of their lips — feels him surrender the control he usually wields like a sword in these moments, feels all his florid muscles soften under him into a body more recognizable, feels his knees draw up so Marti sinks into him further; the line between them blurs._ _

_ _There’s no point in dragging it out further. Now transparent, Marti is eager to walk through the walls Nico’s built to make him feel._ _

_ _He checks first — the hand on Nico’s face sliding down between their chests, stomachs, down between Nico’s legs. It makes him whine, and Nico smiles into Marti’s kiss like he’s catching himself getting lost, trusting Marti knows the way._ _

_ _He’s in sweats, they’re easy for Marti to pull down just enough. And he scoots himself lower, gets Nico’s bent knee over his shoulder to make the best of the small space before putting his head between his legs._ _

_ _When Marti goes down on him there’s a hand in his hair. Gentle and raking without tugging. It stills when Marti uses his circled fingers to meet his lips, extending the whole movement because, with practice, he knows how good that feels. When everything is wet from his mouth and when it doesn’t seem like there can be more, but there is._ _

_ _He feels Nico’s toes curl into the fabric of his shirt on his back, feels the bend of his knee over his shoulder pinch._ _

_ _Micro movements. He’s surprisingly still but surprisingly loud. More his breathing than anything._ _

_ _When he comes, Marti doesn’t move away — doesn’t want to. Despite the straightforward warning, lusty and breathy but not strident:_ _

_ _ _“Marti, I’m going to come.”_ _ _

_ _To anyone else, that sentence might sound dirty. But to Marti, it’s almost spiritual. It’s exactly what Nico deserves, and something like lava shoots through his veins knowing it was his own undoing of Nico to spur forth the words._ _

_ _It’s a lot. Nico comes for so long the line between coming and coming down is blurry. So Marti slows, waits for his gentle hand to push his cheek, then scoots back up to catch his breath. He lays his head on Nico’s stomach — its rises and falls rivaling his own — the hand in his hair still present and massaging his scalp._ _

_ _Marti can feel the question he knows Nico is going to ask swelling._ _

_ _If Marti wants to get off, to turn over, to go to the bed. So Nico can return the favor._ _

_ _And oddly, no — well, it’s more complicated than that. His body is running hot, he feels the blood push through him quickly and everything about him is tender. Going down on Nico — hearing him seeing him touching him tasting him — has turned Marti on, no doubt. But more than that, he wants this to be about Nico, because walking through his walls (ones Marti know can’t ever crumble, can only morph into these unforeseen and almost dreamlike hyaline apparitions before returning solid again) is rare. And not for lack of trying on both ends._ _

_ _So Marti asks before Nico has time to: “Do you want to go outside?”_ _

_ _The fingers carding through his curls still. “For?” Nico asks, a hint of teasing to his voice._ _

_ _Marti doesn’t have the energy to explain. “C’mon,” he hums, unhooking himself from Nico and taking his hand, helping him off the couch._ _

_ _It’s cool out. They sit on the sand, not bothering with a towel or a blanket, right on the edge so the water’s tame current can’t get at their feet. Listening, for just a moment. The lack of cicadas, a howl of a more bitter wind. Fall is here._ _

_ _And so are the stars. It was dark when the boys left, but darker now. And far enough away from Rome that more than usual sprinkle the sky to spot a constellation or two._ _

_ _Marti looks over at Nico._ _

_ _Who’s looking up. He clears his throat. “Can I ask you something?”_ _

_ _Marti nods, sees the flicker of Nico’s eyes catching it in his peripherals._ _

_ _“What do you think happens when you die?”_ _

_ _To keep it light, Marti bumps their shoulders together. “What a cliché-ass question to ask me, gazing up at the stars.” He gesticulates up at them, puts on a dumb voice._ _

_ _Nico chuckles, hangs his head like he knows. But he’s fast with his reply. “See, here’s the thing, though: you love this about me. If you were out here alone I just _know_ you’d be looking up at these stars, thinking _wow, I wish I had a really smart and deep boyfriend to ask me existential questions in the middle of the night by the lake.”__ _

_ _He tries his best Marti voice, which just makes Marti roll his eyes. Sweetly, though. And he’s not all wrong, either. So the best he can offer is a half-hearted, side-stare death glare at Nico, ruined by his pouty smile._ _

_ _Back to the subject. “Maybe we’re reincarnated,” Marti proposes._ _

_ _He likes to be careful with these things. Disappearing into the black, all consciousness and soul-light gone seems like a hammer into a tender spot right now. And heaven seems out of character._ _

_ _And, really, Marti has never thought about it before._ _

_ _Nico nods, seems satisfied with that option._ _

_ _“And what would you want to be reincarnated as?”_ _

_ _“Something cool,” Marti plays, his voice doing that thing when he teases Nico a bit. “Like a leopard. A black one.”_ _

_ _Nico looks him up and down. “I can see that.”_ _

_ _“What about you?”_ _

_ _Nico purses his lips, looks back out to the water. He’s quiet for long enough Marti thinks he might not answer, that the conversation is over._ _

_ _“Maybe a tree,” he finally whispers._ _

_ _“A tree?”_ _

_ _“Yeah,” Nico smiles. “Like a big rosewood tree. Somewhere in the rainforest where no one ever goes, and I live for a really long time. Hundreds of years.”_ _

_ _Marti takes his hand. “I can see that, too.”_ _

_ _There’s something in here that he doesn’t quite get yet — a wound not healed enough to be picked back open. Or maybe it’s not that deep, and Nico just wants peace — the root-brain of a plant, the ability to grow slow._ _

_ _Marti feels Nico squeeze his hand, rests his head on his shoulder._ _

_ _“And you can be the leopard, who comes to rest in all my twisty branches.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> thank u if you made it to the end of this ramble, i think i even made up a word in this thing lol. if you like it let me know, talk to me on [tumblr!](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/) 💛


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